


23:28

by The_Cimmerians



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 17:36:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3819088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Cimmerians/pseuds/The_Cimmerians
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frustration can do funny things to a person</p>
            </blockquote>





	23:28

Kurt Hummel was a resourceful, determined boy. He had seen to it (despite various stages of discomfort from ‘mild’ to ‘please kill me now’) that he had a thorough education in all the dangers and problems faced by sexually active teens; particularly once he was given the miraculous opportunity to become one.

But no pamphlet, booklet, or health class had ever addressed what turned out to be the biggest problem of all: there was no helpful tri-fold cardstock brochure entitled ‘How To Be A Sexually Active Teen (And Not Get Caught Doing It)’. He’d checked. The existing literature was maddeningly silent on the subject.

It hadn’t been a problem, at first—he and Blaine kissed good-night at the door of whoever was getting dropped off after dates, and that was that. It was dreamy, intoxicating, and rich with possibilities. Sure, it made him walk funny for a few minutes afterwards, but it was wonderful, and it was enough.

Only then the good-night kisses got a little more… involved, a little more prolonged, so they shifted their base of operations for good-night kisses to the car. But… well, one thing led to another (as they had a tendency to do when you were young and healthy and in love with an extremely attractive person who loved you back), so pretty soon ‘kissing good-night’ shaded more towards ‘making out’. And then the sessions of making out got longer and hotter and… wetter and steamier and more grabby-touchy-feely and kind of urgent and full of agonizing hard-ons and the equally agonizing decisions of what to do (or not do) with them, and things got a lot more challenging.

***

Blaine’s mouth on his cock was so good it knocked the breath out of him, even with Blaine torturously contorted across the front seat of the car, even though they were both fully dressed except for his open fly, even though he was completely unable to stretch out or move or any of the things he really wanted to do in order to fully appreciate the experience of his first-ever blowjob. Still, it was fucking incredible—hot and tight and wet and mind-blowingly intimate and so sexy he was vibrating, and he felt like he could have reveled in it for hours, but they were only about ten seconds in when Kurt sat up straight in the semi-reclined seat, his gaze fixed out the window and no words to convey the sense of emergency he felt until he managed to suck in a breath. “Dad—dad!”

Blaine’s mouth paused, then slid slowly off the length of his erection. “Uh. I didn’t know you were into that, but hey, whatever—”

“My dad is coming—down the street—headed this way,” Kurt hissed, shoving Blaine’s shoulder a little and scrambling to get his outraged dick back into his yanked-aside boxer-briefs and his stupidly tight but extremely fetching jeans.

Blaine sat up quickly, wiping his mouth and then putting both hands on the steering wheel, radiating conscientious innocence. “God—how does he know?” he asked plaintively, barely a murmur. “We’re a block away from the house and I didn’t drive by before I parked—it’s half an hour before your stupid curfew—how the hell does he know?”

“I’m going on the theory that he’s actually a superhero with some really unusual powers,” Kurt said, zipping his pants closed with a gasp and crossing his legs because—yeah, he was in for a good time dealing with the ache—an ache he now knew intimately, an ache that didn’t stand on ceremony but just made itself at home and settled in his balls and whined at him about how he was a horrible person, a horrible, cock-neglecting person. “Either that or the magic teapot dwarf exists, and is wreaking vengeance on me for my unbelief.”

***

They’d managed fully-clothed frottage twice (once by accident, once very much on purpose), one full mutual handjob, and at least two dozen sessions of what Kurt thought of (not fondly) as handjobus interruptus. He’d licked Blaine’s nipples once. Blaine had blown him once—so what if it was only for ten seconds, it still counted. And over the summer there had been a thousand kisses—sweet ones and soft ones and stolen ones and hurried ones and dirty ones and desperate ones and oh-God-I-want-to-eat-your-face ones, and even a few (very few, sadly) of his favorite ones, the ones where they both managed to get off and were kissing afterwards out of overflowing gratitude and relief and love, clinging to each other and rocking and hoarding the precious seconds until the world pried them apart again.

Unfortunately, neither one of them turned out to be all that great at sneaking around. Kurt blushed too easily, and Blaine was too susceptible to guilt. So they did what they could when they could, and they took some ridiculous and extremely ill-advised chances (and then agreed afterwards that it was a stupid thing to do and they would never do it again, a solemn and necessary vow that they both took very seriously—until the next opportunity presented itself).

But even with those transgressions there were never enough chances, stupid or otherwise, to do things in, and there were too many things that simply wouldn’t work with the chances they did have. So the summer rolled on and got hotter, and so did everything else, and Kurt found himself almost ridiculously nostalgic for the days when the thought of touching Blaine was as scary as it was exciting, because back then, the frustration had been part of the excitement, rather than part of what was driving him slowly crazy.

***

He felt almost ill—not sick, but… fevered, always feverish, always restless in his skin and… itchy. He was on edge, unsettled, and he couldn’t concentrate on anything. He had moments throughout the day when he would be overtaken by his constant mental loop of thoughts of what he would do with and to and for Blaine if he only had the chance, moments when the background became the foreground and he was caught, lost, wracked with desire so powerful that it left him weak-limbed and limp (everywhere except where it counted). It was exhausting.

It wasn’t as bad for Blaine—at least, he didn’t think it was. Blaine was obviously just as frustrated as Kurt when they got interrupted, but most of the time Blaine really seemed more or less exactly like the same guy he’d always been: good-humored, calm, endlessly polite, amused as often as dismayed by the vagaries of existence. Normal. He seemed normal, whereas each passing day somehow made Kurt feel like more of a stranger to himself. A really, really horny stranger.

It wasn’t something he talked about with Blaine, though, because if there were people around (and God there were always people around—why were there so many people, and why did they always have to be around?) it wasn’t the kind of thing he could talk about, and if there weren’t people around, well, he wasn’t about to waste such a precious opportunity as that on anything as trivial as talking, unless it was to communicate something germane like ‘yes’, ‘more’, or ‘oh God, please, harder’—the important stuff.

***

It was late, very late, when his phone buzzed. “Kurt—I’m… oh, sorry, it’s late. Um. Were you asleep?”

“Oh. No.” Awake, erect, and jerking off to thoughts of you fondling me through my pants in the movie theater tonight, he didn’t say. “I… no. I’m awake. Is everything okay?”

“Good, fine, yes, I’m… uh. I just found out—my father is going out of town. Tomorrow.”

Kurt waited. “Okay,” he prompted. “And?”

“And,” Blaine said in a solemn, hushed voice. “My mother is already out of town. And she won’t be back until the day after tomorrow.”

Kurt sat up. “What.”

“I figured it out,” Blaine said in a rush. “I, uh, snuck a look at their itineraries—he’s going to have to leave no later than four o’clock tomorrow to make his flight on time. And my mother, she’s—if she makes all her connecting flights, and if there’s no traffic from the airport to here, the earliest she could get back is three-thirty the next day.”

Kurt was too overcome to speak.

“So,” Blaine said, after a slight pause, “if you came over tomorrow at 4:05—and I hope you will, that’s why I’m, I’m calling to invite you—we’d have twenty-three hours and twenty-five minutes to, uh… we could… um. Hey—have I told you today that I love you? Because I really, really do—”

Kurt cracked up.

***

His watch said 4:04 when he lifted his arm to knock on the wide, handsome oak double-door that fronted the Anderson household, hoping he wasn’t too early (seeing as he was towing his overnight case behind him, and he really didn’t think he could sell Mr. Anderson on the idea that he’d come over to show Blaine a bunch of carpet samples). But Mr. Anderson was gone, so by 4:05 Kurt was mashed up against the inside of the same door, and he undoubtedly would have appreciated its sturdy construction (since Blaine was holding him up with one hand under each of his thighs and the door was taking some pretty serious battering from their joint weight) if he’d had the time, but the finer points of architectural appreciation were entirely eclipsed by his need to work his hips harder, shamelessly riding the hot, hard bulge pounding against his own while Blaine moaned—loudly, so wonderfully loud—right in his ear.

By 4:07 they were both on the floor, still completely clothed (although their clothing was now quite a bit the worse for wear), heaving for breath, hand in hand and staring at the ceiling.

“Hi, Blaine,” Kurt managed eventually, still panting. He could not stop grinning.

“Bed,” Blaine wheezed, tugging on his hand.

“Huh?”

“Need you in my bed,” Blaine hauled him up to his feet, both of them leaning against each other like a pair of drunks. He looked into Blaine’s eyes for just a second, and they were shadowed underneath—the huge, solemn eyes of a starving man. “Naked. In my bed. I need… I need to know you were there, when you’re not there and I’m… I just. Need to have you there. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Kurt said, trying to keep his feet as Blaine dragged him towards the stairs. And that’s when the possibility occurred to him that, out of the two of them, maybe he hadn’t been having the worst time of it. It occurred to him that maybe, just maybe, Blaine was simply much better at acting normal—much better at pretending everything was fine, when in fact you were… going kind of nuts.

He had to take the stairs two at a time to keep up.

***

Being naked in Blaine’s bed: it had happened a thousand times in his mind, in fantasies that were lush and detailed and almost hazily romantic, the two of them exploring each other with unhurried erotic deliberation (despite the content, the most pornographic aspect of these fantasies—the part that delivered the biggest kick—was the obscene amount of time they had).

But that was fantasy, whereas the reality was that as soon as he finished stripping off and turned around to see Blaine tossing his own boxer-briefs across the room, the utter enormity of Blaine being naked made his mouth go dry and his heart thud almost painfully with the force of revelation—because all this time, under his clothes, Blaine had been completely, gorgeously naked. All this time, while Kurt had seen bits of him here and sections of him there, driven wild by a loose collar or a toned forearm, Blaine had been—smooth-skinned and sexy and naked, perfect from the slope of his shoulders to his long-toed feet. Blaine had feet. They were gorgeous. And naked.

“Your feet,” Kurt said, and that was an award-winningly-idiotic thing to say, but Blaine didn’t seem to notice, and Kurt didn’t have much time to worry about his lack of coherence, because Blaine had him pinned to the bed in seconds.

“I want to suck you,” Blaine breathed right in his ear. “Your beautiful cock—I want it, I want to—oh my God, Kurt, your skin—”

Okay, so maybe neither one of them was entirely coherent, but the shock of being naked, skin-to-skin, heat and hardness and contact and bare naked nudity—it was just too much. Kurt kissed Blaine’s open, moaning mouth and writhed under him, then on top of him when Blaine rolled them over, and then his cock slotted into a groove next to Blaine’s and there was slippery sweat everywhere—and they were almost fighting each other trying to get closer, trying to touch everything, all of each other, all at once.

Kurt bucked and slid and almost went hurtling off the bed, but Blaine wrapped his right leg around Kurt’s left one and locked them together—and for some weird reason that was what did it, what sent his overloaded nerves screaming off the edge: Blaine’s warm, strong, naked calf sliding across the back of his knee. Kurt arched his spine and rubbed up against Blaine’s cock and came helplessly, moaning with his head tossed back and his poor, stunned body making random, twitchy movements that he couldn’t control at all. Blaine grabbed his ass and kept him where he was, humping up against him for one last hot second before Blaine groaned and heaved and came all over him, all over both of them.

Kurt collapsed and Blaine made a vague ‘oof’ sound. “Sorry,” Kurt gasped, but Blaine just grabbed his face and kissed him and then kept touching him everywhere, petting and squeezing and sliding on sweat and come and—and poking him in the belly, because Blaine was still hard. “Jesus,” Kurt breathed, sneaking one hand down to grab Blaine’s cock while Blaine made some unbelievable noises in his ear. “Blaine, you just—oh, I’m gonna get some kind of a complex—”

“Can’t help it,” Blaine whispered, shuddering and arching up into his hand. “You’re so fucking pretty, Kurt—”

Blaine mumbled a bunch of other stuff while Kurt stroked him, and most of it was unintelligible but all of it was fucking hot, so hot that he got hard again sooner than he would have believed possible, and Kurt wasn’t really sure how it happened but one thing led to another and the next thing he knew he had Blaine’s arms stretched way up and his wrists pinned against the headboard, straddling Blaine’s chest while he pushed his oversensitive, aching cock into Blaine’s mouth.

The ten-second blowjob he’d had in the car, as amazing as it was, had been entirely insufficient to prepare him for… this: for watching Blaine take him, lowered lashes and gloss of sweat and open, pretty, pink lips stretched around him, for the way that Blaine moaned around him whenever he pushed, whenever he went deeper, for the way the tight heat of Blaine’s mouth was something he felt everywhere, bringing sweat out on his skin and making him dizzy and if he hadn’t just come twice, it would have been over right then and there.

But he had, so it wasn’t, so Kurt watched Blaine until he had to close his eyes because it was too good to keep them open any more. He didn’t mean to lose himself, to lose track of… everything, but thrusting into delicious perfect wet-slick-hot was amazing, just fucking incredible, so the only part of his brain that paid attention when he hit the back of Blaine’s throat and then just kept pushing was the part that registered that he was deeper, now, as deep as he could go, and that it felt insanely, ridiculously good.

A little longer, a little deeper, a little faster, a little more. Just a little—that kept running through his head, because eventually he was going to have to stop being greedy and stop letting loose with such embarrassingly deep groans and stop fucking Blaine’s sexy and irresistible mouth… soon. He was going to stop soon. Very soon. He just wanted a little more, just a tiny bit more, just another minute. Just… oh. More.

The full realization of what he was doing hit all at once, made him gasp and jerk because—fuck—he’d been out of it, really out of it, and what if Blaine was choking or something—

Blaine was moaning, choking, thrashing a little, red and sweating and his brows were drawn low in what was either distress or—or not, because when Kurt pulled back guiltily Blaine heaved under him and rasped, “God—no, don’t stop, Kurt—I’m so—fuck, I’m so close, please—”

It was such an unexpected statement that Kurt looked up to where he still had Blaine’s hands pinned against the headboard. “Oh,” he said faintly, swaying a little. “You’re, um. You mean… close to coming?”

“Yeah, yes, please—Kurt—”

“You don’t… don’t you need your hands?”

Blaine shook his head so emphatically that sweat flew. “No, just—come on, let me, just… do it, Kurt, okay? I need—”

Kurt let go of Blaine’s wrists and took Blaine’s head in his hands, holding gently while he slipped back in, then harder when he started pumping, all the way in and deep into Blaine’s throat while Blaine swallowed around him. There was no getting lost this time because he couldn’t look away, couldn’t not watch Blaine take him fully, take him all the way, sucking and swallowing and drooling a little with his lashes wet and his lips swollen. Blaine’s shaking hands squeezed his thighs and then everything clicked into place and he could feel it—he could feel Blaine’s excitement like it was his own, could feel that Blaine was going to come if he kept going.

He kept going. He got his fists in Blaine’s hair when he got close and Blaine’s constant moans got lower, wilder, and Blaine was moving under him so much that a firm grip was necessary, because he might have started out oversensitive but now he was desperate, fevered and craving and bucking into Blaine’s mouth in tight, smooth circles, faster and harder until Blaine swallowed again and he just fucking lost it, coming agonizingly hard and for an endless, endless time, riding wave after wave of intensity while Blaine drank him down and squeezed his thighs hard enough to bruise and shook like he was coming apart.

***

Blaine dragged him into the shower, and Kurt gave silent thanks to whatever sybaritic genius had invented the built-in shower bench, because he honestly didn’t think he would have been able to stand up for the duration. He was limp and boneless and floaty and embarrassingly prone to random fits of quiet, happy giggles, and he leaned his face against Blaine’s beautiful stomach and alternated giggles with sighs while Blaine washed his hair—a deliriously sensual treat. He closed his eyes and enjoyed it until the last traces of shampoo trickled away, and Blaine’s renewed erection grazed his cheekbone.

“Oh my God, Blaine,” he said softly, reaching out for it. “You’re not human.”

Blaine gasped. “Kurt—”

“You’re actually some kind of sex-demon, and you’re going to hump me to death, aren’t you?”

Blaine cracked up, laughing and moaning a little and pushing, still pushing into his hand. “Don’t make me laugh when I’m… oh. God.” His hips twitched. “Please don’t stop doing that.”

Kurt could take a hint. Or an overt request. Whatever. He sucked Blaine into his mouth and understood immediately why Blaine had responded the way he had—it was crazily intimate, tender and sweet and insidiously hot, hotter still when Blaine’s hands gently cupped his face. Kurt let his eyes flutter closed and sucked and swallowed and worked his tongue, and listened to Blaine far above him, moaning and panting and telling him how good it was, how hot, how fucking amazing he was. “Love you,” Blaine murmured brokenly, then twitched hard. “Love you so much so so much oh fuck Kurt love you—”

It occurred to Kurt at that moment that being humped to death by a horny sex-demon with a mile-wide romantic streak was maybe not such a bad way to go.

***

He drank a ton of water. He ate some baby carrots and cherry tomatoes and a wedge of smoked gouda and some celery and peanut butter and a nectarine and it was all staggeringly ambrosial, the most delicious thing he’d ever eaten.

“That’s weird,” he said, dragging his last bite of celery around the bowl that had held peanut butter before he’d decimated it.

“What’s weird?” Blaine asked companionably, tossing cherry tomatoes into the air and catching them in his mouth. He hadn’t missed once. It was terribly sexy.

“I hate peanut butter.”

Blaine peeked into the bowl. “But… you ate all of it.”

“I know. That’s why it’s weird. It was… so good.”

Blaine shrugged, smiling. “Maybe you like peanut butter now.”

Kurt scoffed. “I’m fairly confident that I still hate it, unless it’s preceded by a truly decadent glut of mind-blowing orgasms. Then it’s pretty amazing.”

Blaine’s smile broadened to a grin. “Hey, speaking of which…”

Kurt moved the breakfast tray from the bed to the nightstand with a theatrical sigh. “God—boys and their one-track minds, I swear.”

Blaine blinked, his grin fading a little. “Kurt, you know, if you don’t want to, uh… I mean, we don’t—”

Kurt tossed a pillow at him and lounged back on the bed. “Oh, shut up and come here, you hot, hunky Warbler, you.”

***

He fucked Blaine for the first time about ten minutes later, sprawled out on his back with Blaine on top, riding him. It was quiet, intense, both of them a little tentative, but Kurt held Blaine’s gaze through the whole thing, from the first lip-biting moments of fitting together through to the end, when they were both shaking hard from holding back and drenched with sweat, their fingers laced together because it was so big, what they were doing, it was huge; they both knew it and they both felt it, but as long as he could squeeze Blaine’s hands and look into his eyes and keep them together, it was good. “I have to come now,” Blaine said at last, not much more than a whisper, and Kurt said ‘yes—please’ and he thought Blaine might close his eyes but he didn’t, so Kurt didn’t either. He watched Blaine rock faster and ride harder and come, one soft, heartbreaking cry the only sound he made. Kurt gasped once, twice, and then his spine twisted up and he came inside Blaine’s throbbing, deliciously tight body, feeling like he’d left everything else behind, like this was a line and he’d crossed it, stepped over it forever, hand-in-hand with Blaine, and now everything was different.

Everything.

***

Kurt used a half-wet, half-dry hand towel to clean both of them up afterwards, because Blaine was hazy-eyed and floppy-limbed and actually limp for once—at least, he was until Kurt got done with the cleaning-up part of the process and had moved on to the part where he was softly, tenderly stroking one finger over Blaine’s hole because it was so pretty, rose-copper blushy and just the slightest bit raw-looking and he couldn’t believe he’d actually fit himself inside it—

“Oh, God,” he said when Blaine yanked the towel away from him and pushed him face-down on the bed. “I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

“Mmm,” Blaine said, and that really wasn’t an answer but Kurt decided to forgive Blaine for not talking because instead Blaine pushed his sore thighs apart and started licking his ass. That turned out to be something that undid him even more than Blaine sucking his cock because—because he had no defense against it, absolutely none. Even though he would have sworn he couldn’t get it up again for anything, it only took about thirty seconds of that tender, wet, flickering tease before his poor abused cock was hard and aching and—gently—rutting against the sheets with tiny, helpless movements.

“You can fuck me now,” he breathed, hands clenched tight in the pillow he’d dragged under his face to moan into.

“Not yet. Soon.” Blaine answered, then went back to torturing his nerves with slow licks and circles and tantalizing, fluttering almost-but-not-quite-in-him teases.

“Hate you,” Kurt managed, rocking, spreading his thighs wider.

“Oh—that’s too bad,” Blaine said, and Kurt heard a quiet click, at which point his brain and his body registered ‘lube’ and he moaned again. “Because I was just about to do this—” the tips of two fingers inside him, another goddamn tease. “But I wouldn’t want to do it with someone who hated me; that would be terrible—”

Kurt humped the bed and pushed back for more. He didn’t get any. “God, you suck—”

“Hey, maybe I should do that instead…”

“Oh, no you don’t. My dick is off-limits until you fuck me.”

Blaine’s fingers sank in a little deeper, and Kurt gasped. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“Yeah,” Kurt managed, writhing and shuddering. “Now it’s your turn, okay?”

***

Blaine fucked him on his hands and knees until Kurt couldn’t hold himself up any longer, then flipped him over and put Kurt’s ankles over his shoulders and pounded into him while Kurt clawed his arms and begged for harder and deeper and more more please God more—it was kind of terrifying, being so out of control and wanton and needy, but Kurt figured he could freak out about it later, after he was done coming his brains out. Blaine stroked his cock lightly, using a ton of lube because he was kind of… chafed, a light, fast caress that was barely there, but still somehow the perfect counterpoint to the relentless way Blaine drove into him.

Kurt gave up on trying to come and just let Blaine push him there, let his body do whatever it wanted and refused to care about the obscene noises spilling out of his mouth or the way he jerked hard every time Blaine hit the spot inside him that was so good it made his teeth ache. He got lost for a while in watching Blaine fuck him, because Blaine was a sweaty gorgeous mess and watching him get off was the most amazing aphrodisiac ever. Only then Blaine dropped his head back and groaned and the low light in the room shone off the line of his throat—sweat and actual stubble and the angular bump of Blaine’s adam’s apple and Kurt came so fucking hard all of his muscles cramped up, all of them, stinging sore and his ass throbbing like a beating heart. Blaine twisted his hips and gasped and came in him, clearly and distinctly and unmistakably came inside him, groaning unstoppably, then a collapse and they were kissing and both moaning and rolling over, clinging to each other, pain and pleasure and just… holding on. Holding on as long as they could.

***

Shower. Drink of water. Nap. Blaine woke him up to split a cheese-and-tomato sandwich, then snuggled up against him and rocked slowly, just a little, just until they were both hard and moaning. He fell asleep again somewhere in the middle of that, and Blaine must have as well because when Kurt opened his eyes Blaine was drooling on his pillow and still clinging to him, sleep-sweaty and wet, so Kurt pushed him onto his back and gently sucked his tight, coppery nipples until Blaine moaned and spread his beautiful thighs and nudged him downwards.

He fell asleep again after Blaine came down his throat, his head pillowed on Blaine’s stomach. He woke up for more water and some mango slices, just a brief surfacing before he went under again, but after that he woke up groaning, flat on his belly with Blaine’s tongue in his ass as far as it would go, slow, lazy circles and thrusting—it felt like it took him fucking hours to come, and coming took forever and was so slow and sweet and powerful that he just went under again without really knowing when.

Naps and touching and closeness and coming and snuggling and Blaine asleep in his arms was the most amazing feeling of all, Blaine’s soft, sleepy kiss on his forehead sweet enough to make his eyes sting and it. All. Just. Felt. So. Good.

He opened his eyes and Blaine was close, and that was right, but Blaine was… crying, just a little, and that wasn’t. “Blaine, what is it? What’s—”

“It’s time,” Blaine said, his voice a low, husky rasp. “It’s time, and I didn’t… Kurt, I feel like I didn’t spend enough time loving you.”

Kurt blinked, trying to wake up, trying to make sense of that. “Blaine, honestly, if you’d spent any more time loving me I’d probably require medical attention—”

“When you said you’d come over, I wanted… I mean, yes, you know what I wanted, because we did it, a lot, but… it wasn’t just that. I wanted you to know how much… you mean so much to me, and I wanted you to feel that, I wanted you to know I really, I really—oh, fuck—”

Kurt rolled Blaine onto his back and kissed him. “Shh,” he whispered, groping around on the nightstand until he found what he wanted. “Just let me, let me—” he was gentle with his fingers, and went slow after that because his cock was so raw and chafed it hurt, easing in, so he didn’t move much, just rocked and held on while Blaine clung to him and kissed him, desperately hard, and he didn’t think it was physically possible for him to come again but when Blaine shuddered and bit his lip and then cried out like he was in pain he slipped right over the edge, gasping and stung and feeling like he was emptying out everything he had, giving it all, not holding a single thing back.

***

“Better now?

Blaine sighed, and snuggled closer. “Yeah. You have magical powers.”

Kurt chuckled, and kissed his damp hair. “And you’re a sex-demon. Seems to work out well.”

“Just…” Blaine touched his chest. “Just promise me something, okay?”

“What?”

“That it won’t always be… that someday, we’ll have time. Enough time.”

“Someday,” Kurt said solemnly, “we’ll have all the time in the world.” He petted Blaine’s smooth back. “Me and my magical penis powers will see to it.”

Blaine snorted right in his ear, and Kurt giggled helplessly. “Okay, handsome,” he said when he’d tapered off, groping around on the nightstand until he found his watch, which informed him that it was 3:32, and he was officially pushing his luck. “Let’s go.”

~End~

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Endnotes: Anyone else ever had that experience where you get a chance to do all the stuff you haven’t had a chance to do due to circumstances beyond your control, and because you’ve been waiting so long you have way way wayyyyy too much sex? Yeah, I kind of love it when that happens. I wanted to see if I could capture that quality of urgency and uh… sexual gluttony, and also the experience of pushing your body physically right to the edge. In looking it over, I’m really not sure whether or not I got it, but I sincerely thank you for sticking with me while I tried.


End file.
